


Pretend That I Am Okay

by alynwa



Series: Song Stories [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Prompt is "The Pretender" by Jackson Browne.  Lyrics after the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretend That I Am Okay

Their latest affair had been horrific almost from the beginning.  Murphy’s Law was created for fiascos like that mission had been; Innocents injured and killed, agents tortured and killed, his partner saving him from certain death and almost paying the ultimate price  himself.  Fortunately for both of them, for once, the Solo luck had attached itself to Illya and they made it out of the fortress before the self – destruct sequence had counted down to zero.

They had both been released, Illya first, from Medical to recuperate at home from their physical trauma.  Psych insisted they remain out of the field until such time as the headshrinkers could determine if there had been permanent psychological damage.  They were staying at Napoleon’s since his release as he was still, theoretically, on bed rest even though currently he was sitting on his sofa working his way through his second bottle of scotch while the faster drinking Russian was on his third bottle of vodka.  They had agreed mutually that getting drunk on a Friday night just seemed like the perfect idea.

“Illya,” Napoleon slurred, “Illya, Illya; I have had it.”

The blond looked up at his partner from the seat he had taken on the floor with glazed over eyes.  “Vhat, I mean, _what_ do you mean, Na…Na…Polya?”

“I mean,” the American said as he struggled to sit upright, “that I don’t want to do…” He waved his arm around his body, “ _this_ anymore.  I’m going to quit UNCLE!”

Illya stared at him for several long, speechless minutes.  He poured himself another shot and held it up.  “ _Tovarisch,_ ve are partners.  If you leave UNCLE, _I_ leave UNCLE.”  He downed the shot and wiped his mouth.  Vhat vill we do in our new lives?” he asked in a thickening Russian accent.

Napoleon let his head loll back on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.  Illya thought he had gone to sleep, but just as he was about to stretch out to do the same, Napoleon spoke.  “I’m going to become a regular Joe.  I’m going to find me a girl to love who loves me and wants nothing from me except love.  We’ll buy a house and I’ll get a job and we’ll laugh all day and make love all night.  And we’ll be _happy._ ”

Illya took in what he heard and bobbed his head in what was supposed to be agreement, but looked more like he was having a problem holding it up.  “ _Ya boodoo, ya znayti drooʐinoo, tyeʐ. Mi boodye oryendoovati boodinok, moʐye booti porooch z vami. Mi moʐyemo booti soosіdіv.“_

“My Russian’s a little fuzzy, I didn’t get that.”

“Sorry, that was, that was Ukrainian.  I was saying I will do the same thing as you.  Except, I vill make my own lunch!  Do you want to stay in New York?”

“No.  Oops,” he said as he sloshed some of his scotch onto the coffee table, “Let’s move to, to, to… _somewhere else!_ ”

“ _Da._ Vhere?”

“I dunno; somewhere where bringing your lunch to work is normal.  Where being _normal_ is normal.”

The Russian eased down to the floor and bent his arm so he could rest his head on it.  “That is too much to think about now.  Let us talk about it in the morning.”

“Okay,” Napoleon muttered as he also slid down to a prone position and began to drift away, “We’ll make plans then.”

The next morning, Napoleon awoke feeling like he had been hit in the head with a building, a hairy building that had forced itself into his mouth and taken up residence.  He started to sit up and thought better of it.  Only his bladder convinced him to make another effort.  He got up and narrowly avoided stepping on Illya, who lay practically at his feet snoring like six buzz saws going through redwoods. 

“Illya?  What are you doing down there?”

The Russian rolled over onto his back and looked up at his partner before shielding his eyes from the encroaching daylight peeking through the drapes.  “ _Chyort!_ Why is it so bright in here?  Nevermind, help me up.”

Both men toddled off to their respective bathrooms and then converged on the kitchen where Napoleon began making a pot of very strong coffee.  “The shrinks will be here at one o’clock,” he said.

“I remember,” Illya replied, “How much do _you_ remember about last night?”

Napoleon poured coffee into two extra – large mugs and handed one to his partner.  “I remember that I was…pretending to be fed up and telling you I was quitting UNCLE.  You didn’t take me seriously, did you?”

The blond man snorted, “Of course not!  I just went along with what you were saying.”  He drank deeply of his coffee and looked at nothing.

After minutes of silence, Napoleon glanced at Illya and asked, “It’s nice to pretend sometimes, isn’t it?”

Illya topped off his cup and then, Napoleon’s.  “Yes, it is.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to rent myself a house  
> In the shade of the freeway  
> I'm going to pack my lunch in the morning  
> And go to work each day  
> And when the evening rolls around  
> I'll go on home and lay my body down  
> And when the morning light comes streaming in  
> I'll get up and do it again  
> Amen  
> Say it again  
> Amen
> 
> I want to know what became of the changes  
> We waited for love to bring  
> Were they only the fitful dreams  
> Of some greater awakening  
> I've been aware of the time going by  
> They say in the end it's the wink of an eye  
> And when the morning light comes streaming in  
> You'll get up and do it again  
> Amen
> 
> Caught between the longing for love  
> And the struggle for the legal tender  
> Where the sirens sing and the church bells ring  
> And the junk man pounds his fender  
> Where the veterans dream of the fight  
> Fast asleep at the traffic light  
> And the children solemnly wait  
> For the ice cream vendor  
> Out into the cool of the evening  
> Strolls the pretender  
> He knows that all his hopes and dreams  
> Begin and end there
> 
> Ah the laughter of the lovers  
> As they run through the night  
> Leaving nothing for the others  
> But to choose off and fight  
> And tear at the world with all their might  
> While the ships bearing their dreams  
> Sail out of sight
> 
> I'm going to find myself a girl  
> Who can show me what laughter means  
> And we'll fill in the missing colors  
> In each other's paint-by-number dreams  
> And then we'll put out dark glasses on  
> And we'll make love until our strength is gone  
> And when the morning light comes streaming in  
> We'll get up and do it again  
> Get it up again
> 
> I'm going to be a happy idiot  
> And struggle for the legal tender  
> Where the ads take aim and lay their claim  
> To the heart and the soul of the spender  
> And believe in whatever may lie  
> In those things that money can buy  
> Thought true love could have been a contender  
> Are you there?  
> Say a prayer for the pretender  
> Who started out so young and strong  
> Only to surrender


End file.
